Cancer
by JonasGrant
Summary: "You know why selfishness is a stupid concept? For the same reason cancer cells are always doomed; they consume everything, feed off their host and take all there is to take for themselves, then, the host dies and the cancer with it. No matter how large and deeply implanted it is, the selfish will die with the rest of the world. That's why you should get to work now."
1. Dying

**A/N: I've been thinking about warhammer and Prototype lately, wondering what kind of powers Alex would have gotten from consuming the incredible stuff that populates the 40k universe. Decided to write a story about it xD**

I found that cancer is an excellent analogy for much everything, ranging from why our society is falling apart to just why my own sickness will not be cured.

Life has a sick sense of humor, really, I just turned twenty-four and was about to marry into a very influential noble family from Cadia, a good way for some bastard child like me to get out of the gutter. I can't say it's love, she sees me as a pretty face with muscle and a mean to get out of an arranged wedding to some old ship captain and me, well, I'm just some lower class dock loader, as annoying and self-centered as that bitch is, I do not intend to spit on a ticket out of the slums.

Well, not relevant now, is it.

I sit up and slip my grey-formerly white jacket back on.

The doctor seems almost sorry that she can't save me. Brain tumor is too much for some underground clinic to handle. I already called my fiancé to tell her of my condition, I've known for a week now, but she seems to think cancer is some form of mutation, stupid cow.

"What will you do now?" The doctor seems genuinely interested in my plans, so I answer while buttoning up my jacket.

"I saw a woman in the park the other night, she offered me lessons of something called Yoga, I have enough credits to take her up on it, then maybe I will go see my friend Lars, he is a shuttle pilot for a rogue trader ship, see if he can teach me how to fly…" Showing up to work again seems pretty much pointless now, I will try things I feel like doing, throw away all the credits I saved up then go see the planetary governor, slash open his throat and get killed by the PDF.

I don't say the last part out loud.

With a short nod, she parts the curtains leading to the street and step aside to let me through.

She works and lives in a shack, at the heart of the city slums, that's about two kilometers from the park.

Two kilometers of people living in cardboard boxes, eating refuses and all around trying to get by and, from the looks of it, failing.

I sprint through it, hopping over drunkards of the floor, ducking under clothes line and my worn shoes soon filling with muddy water from all the water puddle.

Dana, the Yoga girl, does not seem to ever sleep, drink or eat at all, she spends her life wandering around the park, reading books far too complicated for my brain power, working out and speaking to deadbeats like me.

I latch onto a chainlink fence twice my side and climb the thing up in a second.

It's easy, I'm in a very good shape, not only because of my job as a dock worker, but also because I spend most of my free time running around, delivering packages to people who are in too much of a hurry to wait for the postal services.

Heh, I wanted to live longer by keeping myself in shape, so much for that idea now.

My shoes fill with water after I land in a large puddle. Who cares? I just keep on running.

The park is actually a bit of the city that fell into disrepair a few centuries back and now overrun by jungle. The streets remain and the building long since crumbled, making the old ruins perfectly safe to explore for people with a lot of free time, like me.

On busier planets, dock workers can work around the clock and back before getting a pat in the back and being told to keep going, me, I get maybe two ships a week, I spent a lot of time debating with Dana, about the imperium, yes, but also about the emperor himself, whom she keeps referring to as Greene.

I could report her for heresy, but…

Okay, I don't have a logical reason not to, maybe I think she's attractive and my lower brains are influencing me, or maybe it's just that I hate the imperium anyhow.

Not sure I hated it before meeting Dana, though… Who knows.

As always, the woman is sitting on her park bench, reading a book dating from before the heresy and smiling to herself. She always smiles. And curse, curses I really never heard anyone else use, but she's crazy, so I never call her out on those.

I stumble to a stop right before her and sit on the bench to her left. My lungs immediately start burning, but it's not that bad.

Frak, of course it's not that bad, my body is slowly killing me, having an arm ripped off wouldn't look that bad to me at this point.


	2. Meet and Greet

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone, but who said anything about Alex?**

"What is this?" A powerful voice booms from the darkness, ripping me away from oblivion.

That I recall, there were no dreams prior to that voice, nothing, not even darkness, emptiness, oblivion. I don't take stims or alcohol, so whatever is going on, it can't be good.

I feel pressure against my neck, followed by a tiny prick and much beeping and gurgling. This is one odd mosquito.

"Jan Rey," A second voice, closer to me yet muffled somehow, answers the first, "He's no one."

That I am, but where I am is what really interests me. Somehow, I can't see a thing nor move a muscle, so perhaps I should wait and see what happens. What _happened_ might be a good question to ask too, last thing I remember is sitting next to that crazy girl that lives in the park… Did she drug me? Would not come as a real surprise, really.

"He must be someone to have survived this assault." The booming voice snaps back.

Yeah, right, simple dock workers don't just survive assaults from… What attacked us anyway?

Not that it matters, I can hardly think of anything that would attack me and that I could somehow survive without running like a rabbit, outside, maybe, other deadbeats like myself.

"It says here that he is a dock worker, engaged to some noble from Cadia... Ah, that's interesting…"

Me? Interesting? I bore myself half to death every time I look back at the fun parts of my life!

"What?" A third voice pushes, apparently eager to get the frak out of here.

The second voice seems to be further away now, probably gone to show something to his friends. "He has a cancerous brain tumor, put in three requests for surgical procedures, all denied. He should have died almost a month ago…"

What? The doc gave me six months to live before I left her clinic! Did I miss something?

"Well, he lives, can he fight?" The first voices cuts in, apparently as eager as the other one to get out of here.

"His arms are buried under boulders weighting twice as much as he does, I doubt he will be much use in a fight if we dig him out…"

Something big walks up to me and I feel a cold rush of air against my arms and face, immediately followed by blood red light and the sight of three massive silhouettes towering over me.

Ultramarines, two scouts and an assault marine.

I guess this is a pretty serious matter, maybe I should say something deep or official… "Hello, milords, welcome to Baria!" What am I, a tour guide? 'Welcome to Baria.' Bloody hell.

One of the scouts, the one that seemingly took a DNA sample from me, scoffs at that. "Very nice planet you have here, citizen," a glance around tells me we are actually uptown, in the richest part of the city, whatever part of it that are not burned down to a crisp are falling apart, which takes away some of its charm, "can you move your arm?" His voice, muffled by the breathing apparatus on his face, snaps my head back to him.

My arms rise and twist easily, fingers wiggling around like they are supposed to. "Yes."

The assault marine walked away while we were talking and now yells something from the right.

A lasgun almost hits me in the face, but is stopped in extremis by something blurry and pale white.

_My arm._

I actually caught the thing! It's quite an exploit to me, I am as clumsy as a drunk amputee trying to juggle chainsaws. Bad analogy, but you get the idea.

None of the marines says anything, either at the fact this was an impressive catch or at how crazy the assault guy is for throwing a loaded weapon at me like that. Maybe it was some kind of test, to see if I'm worth keeping around, or maybe he just tried to brain me and save himself a lot of trouble later on.

I must have done good, however, because the scout marine helps me back to my feet and holds me up until the dizziness goes away.

The weapon in my hand is boxy, the clip is behind the grip, integrated to the stock and there's an holographic red bullseye on top of it

"You know how to use a lasgun?" The scout asks, a lot more nicely than I would expect from a superhuman killing machine.

I don't, really, like every able bodies men on Baria, I was a reservist for the PDF, but we trained with autoguns, not lasers. I tell him just that.

"Same concept; point, shoot, dive for cover when you fail to kill it."

I nod, lasguns are called flashlights by some of the less pious members of our society, 'Bringing the emperor's light to the darkest corners of the galaxy' has an all new meaning once you hear that nickname.

"Let's move." The assault marine barks, stepping past me and almost causing me to soil my pants. How can something this large move so quietly?

They march through the rubbles pretty casually, but I can see their eyes scanning every rock and window. We move, with the assault marine up front and me in the back, for about five minutes, passing by burning tank wrecks, corpses of guardsmen, torn to pieces and discarded like broken toys, quite a few craters and a lot of scorch marks all over, like someone sprayed molten lava all over the city.

"What exactly are we fighting?" A stupid question, one I should have asked much earlier, but, I don't know, Ultramarines kind of intimidate me, somehow.

"Tyranids," The only talkative member of the group answers, "A small incursion, many chapters sent their scout companies here so we can get some…"He gets smacked behind the helmet by the assault marine. I guess that's classified, but then again… "He's dying anyway, Sergeant!"

Yeah, that.

"Maybe he is, but he could still talk to someone before that time."

Rubbles to my right, street ahead and behind me, corpses to my left, "Who do you want me to talk to? There's only the three of you!"

You ever get glared at by an armored Astarte? I feel genuinely relieved that I will likely die from cancer before this is over.

Something on the scout marine's belt beeps pretty alarmingly and he stops to look at some hand held cogitator. His helmet bobs up and down as he looks at me, then at the machine. We all stopped to look at him and his two comrades soon join him to see what the machine is saying.

The assault marine steps forward, draws his pistol and shoots me in the face.


	3. Biting Back

Many people see bolters as handheld rocket launchers, these people are either idiots, citizens of less advanced worlds or just too zealous to accept the mighty Astarte's weapon might not be the one most awesome handheld killing machine in the universe.

Truth is, bolters have a massive caliber and advanced ammunition that explode _after_ penetrating the target, a brilliant concept against the hardest foes out there, but against a squishy, unarmoured human like me, it is superfluous, as the bolts' impact alone pretty much severs my head and the ammunition explodes far behind me.

There is no oblivion here, just darkness and the mother of all headaches.

I fall to my knees, still aware of the air rushing past me and the dull thud of my legs hitting the ground.

I could get back up, but blame it on decapitation through massive firepower, that thought isn't very appealing, so I let my body fall in the rubbles. I can't see or hear anything, but that's not as surprising as the fact I realize that I'm not. How can someone be self-aware without central nervous system? On the plus side, that's a tumor I won't have to worry about anymore.

Light returns at the same time as sound, with a wet noise and much tickling around my face.

So I still have a face, huh? Odd.

The red sky filled with black clouds is all that I can see at first, my peripheral vision taking its time coming back, then I see the crumbling buildings, an eight stories circular tower to the left with its top half blown to a pointy shape, a blocky concrete supply depot at my feet with bolt impacts all over the walls I can see and some dust covered husk of an office building, all its floor collapsed, leaving only the outer shell.

The headache is gone, not sure when, and I feel more awake than I ever did, like someone poured a bucket of ice cold water straight in my brain.

Flipping over to look at my dead spot, I notice the trio walking away, still on the lookout and guns held high. Pushing myself off the floor shouldn't have made that much noise, but the assault marine apparently has excellent hearing or just good instinct and his boltgun is pointed at me the second I'm on my feet.

"I killed you." I expected something deeper.

Not that I've got much to say in response, bastard shot me in the face without warning or explanation, so much for the whole honorable warrior thing, so much for being humanity's protector. I'm angry, no, I'm fraking enraged at this superhuman warrior pointing a massive gun at me and I really don't see a reason I shouldn't be, he thinks just because he received advanced implants and high end equipment, he's worth more than me? That's gakking bullocks, he's just a man, a man who had luck in his life and never once had to work to overcome his weaknesses; he was born genetically superior, selected in the Ultramarines at a young age and given the best instruction available. Me, on the other hand, I was born scrawny, was taught how to read and write by my parents and everything else I know, I taught myself or read in whatever books I managed to find.

He's weak for being so strong, I'm strong for being so weak, that's the concept of inheritance versus reward, and now I feel like I could rip him apart. Let's try out that idea; most likely won't work, but he's going to kill me anyway.

The ground feels soft under my feet as I push on it, propelling my body forward faster that it should go without a vehicle. The marine fires a three round burst and one actually connects, but I see no noticeable damages, it just rips through me like I'm made of jelly and explodes right behind me, which actually just helps me on my way.

Problem number two arises almost immediately after number one. One being that I can't stop, two being that I'm in a collision course with a full ton of ceramite and muscle.

We collide, soft flesh with hardened armor, and the scouts roll away from either side. So much for knowing no fear.

In any event, the marine falls on his back and slides down a rubble pile like a crazy carpet, with me holding on to his armor's collar hard enough to bend the thing. Where do you go from there? I didn't plan this far, so I guess that hesitation is what causes me to get a knife long as my arm just between the two top ribs. I punch the marine's helmet in response, more as a defiance gesture than actual attempt to harm him.

The helmet dents slightly, but the marine manages to grab and throw me off. I crash roughly in a bed of twisted steel rods and broken glass, look up at the marine and get peppered with bolt rounds. That just fuels the rage back to its previous level.

I'm mad, I just survived being shot repeatedly and stabbed in the chest and I can dent bulletproof plating like it's plastic.

This is getting very interesting.

The boltgun runs dry and my wounds heal in a second.

This is all fun, but I don't feel so great anymore, this last burst made me dizzy so maybe I should stop this, try to talk or something.

"Seems like you're not the biggest fish around here," I speak, as neutral and collected as possible, "how about we talk this out…"

One of the scouts emerges from cover, behind and to the left, from inside that bombed out tower, it's the one who sampled my DNA, his gun is aimed at me but he doesn't open fire.

The assault marine doesn't reload his bolter, he just stands on the sidewalk, at the bottom of a large rubble pile I'm standing on top of.

"What are you?" The scout finally speaks, breaking the silence after a few very long seconds.

The answer comes without me thinking it, "I'm just a man, a boring guy who should be dead and I don't know why I'm not." Brain tumor, bolt to the face, gladius to the chest, multiple bolts all over, I'm not supposed to be standing, I'm not stupid, I know something is up, but I also know I'm still me and not some tyranid xeno monster or whatever.

"Your blood sample," he speaks, looking down to his cogitator, "I have never seen anything quite like this." When a space marine, even a neophyte, admits not having a clue what is happening… Well, what's happening is worth paying attention.

Especially when it's happening to you.

Since they seem to be over the shooting phase and into the 'how do we kill that thing?' one, I guess it's safe to try and find out more about my condition.

"What exactly is going on with my blood?" That question actually takes him by surprise and he seems hesitant to answer, as if it would give me some advantage or something, but, hey, giving the enemy information about themselves does not exactly qualify as some form of treason.

He still glance over to the assault marine, who nods. They probably hope I'll reveal some kind of weakness they can exploit.

"The sampler sterilizes after every use, irradiates any biologic material in contains, your blood cells survived the sterilisation."

That's it? They shot me in the face over a cellular oddity? "Are you fraking stupid? Maybe your machine's broken or my cells are just incredibly resistant," I snap, not quite yelling, but close to it, "Why would you kill a man because his blood cells won't die!"

The so far silent scout finally speaks up from almost two steps behind me: "We are fighting tyranids, we do not have the luxury to wait and see what happens."

I'm not stupid, I know that line is going to be followed by some heroic attempt to end my life, most likely with an explosive or something that does a loud noise. I probably won't be able to turn around fast enough to outmatch an Astarte with the element of surprise, so I do the stupidest, most unexpected –Unexpected if it works, stupidest if it doesn't- thing that comes to my mind.

Jump. Not backward, not forward, just up. Hey, don't judge me, a stupid idea is better than none at all.

My legs push so hard on the rubbles they lift a grayish dust cloud through which I see the scout marine's power sword swing in a wide angle.

Then, I fall right on top of the marine and run my fist through his chest.


	4. Run For your Life

**A/N: Just to make it clear, this will not be a roflstomp fic, factions will adapt to the new threat, Jan will need to adapt to these, and many skilled fighters from every side will give him a run for his money. Cross, a mere human, managed to stand up to Alex Mercer after all. Also, I have a reason for calling big E 'Greene', one that will be made crystal clear in Jan's attempt to find out what he has become and master it. Jan will also gain much, much more power than Alex and Heller did, so much DNA around, so much opportunities to evolve, this is the center of the story.**

**Thanks for the reviews, guys, if you have any complaints or suggestions, let me know!**

Janus, a warrior of the Hamekatis, leading tribe of Gamia, was not the most intelligent or powerful fighter of his clan, but he definitely was the most brutal and fiercely loyal of them all. He hunted his first Saurian Bear at twelve and killed his first man at nine, since that time, he had killed more living being than he could count, which wasn't very far.

He had fought in a war with the Hekatilia, not long before leaving his tribe, and met a boy about his age, Ayawamath, fighting for the other side. Aya and he were practically strangling each other to death when the death bringers landed, with their metal chariots and skull faced warriors. The war stopped dead and many Hekatilia were recruited into their ranks, including Aya, but not Janus; 'Too psychologically unstable', they said. It enraged him even further, to the point he tried to strike down one of their warrior, only to be subdued like a mere child.

When the Ultramarines came, weeks later, he used his rage to impress them and actually managed to be selected.

From that point, Janus swore himself to never be beaten like he had been by the skull faced warriors, training harder than was expected of him, volunteering for every demonstrations so he could learn combat techniques first hand and this soon bore results, as he quickly rose to the top of his training company in close quarter combat exercises.

"This is the gladius short sword, Ultramarines' ceremonial weapon and your new best friend," His instructor's voice still rang in his head, "many consider it too short, but we find it long enough to find our enemies' hearts. Do as I say, listen well and you will learn how to make this into an extension of your own body."

At eighteen, Janus became a scout marine with all gene-seeds and training thisinvolved, a soldier capable of killing almost any foe one on one. His first deployment was on a small industrial world attacked by stray Tyranid forces.

There, he met Jan Rey, some human-Tyranid monster that could survive anything the space marines had thrown at it. While it talked, the marines had called in a Thunderhawk to provide some firepower, but Janus saw an opportunity to end this and, as always, acted on his impulses. His death was messy, torn to shreds by tendrils shooting from the creature's body, broken down to the cellular level and assimilated to the monstrosity. Two became one.

I become Jonus, but am still me; I feel no connection to what he held dear, no need to serve the god-emperor with my life and no hatred for myself.

I took what I needed from him, assimilated his experience and skills, his strength too, it seems, but left out everything I didn't need.

The assault marine, Brother Sergeant Varka, steps forward, unsure just what it is he saw. Brother Valeros is just as confused.

"Janus," Varka's voice booms, apparently addressing me, "What is your condition?"

He thinks I'm Janus. A glance down reveals that, yeah, I am. Blue armor, sword in hand, a good head taller than I used to be…

"All clear, Sergeant." I lie, in Janus' voice, "What happened?"

He shakes his helmet and looks up. The Thunderhawk goes from being a dot in the sky to right on top of us in a few seconds. Varka talks to the pilot over the vox caster and I look around for my old body. Did I just switch? Did I absord Janus? Did he absorb me? Am I mixing strong stims and having one odd hallucination?

Everything seems real, I felt pain not a minute ago, but I'm certain mad men think the same when they lose it.

My body feels different, though, like in a dream, I feel pain, know it's pain and can feel everything around me, but it isn't overbearing. Being shot earlier caused a reaction, of course, it surprised me and my body issued a warning, but the following shots were just information I could ignore. Then, there's this constant _crawling_ under my skin, like my whole body is reorganizing by the second to fit whatever purpose I have for it.,

"Brother Janus!" Poor kid, it's like being called brother Rectumus.

I look back to the assault marine. He's about twelve meters away. I wandered a bit, it seems. More marines now surround him, a chaplain, an apothecary and… is that a Tactical Dreadnough?

"Yes?" Seems like the only appropriate thing to answer.

The chaplain does something with his big stick –Janus and I really aren't into all that warp stuff- and I get blinded by a pulsing yellow ray.

Shielding my eyes reveals that my arms reverted back to white fabric and pale skin. I'm me, and that's not good.

"Blast it!" I roar, spinning on the spot and exploding from the spot just as the Ultramarines open fire.

There are three scout marines with flamers blocking my escape. I jump, they fire.

The flames lick my feet and splash across the rubble pile, but cause very little damage as I soar through the air. The marines adjust their aim, but are two centimeters behind and all draw their galdiuses to face me. Frak them. I land behind the trio and break into a sprint on the main street. Two hundred meters ahead is the access ramp to the skyway. And four hundred meters back this way, said skyway enters a tunnel.

That would allow me to shake off the Thunderhawk that's now following me around like a fly follows a… Yeah, you get the idea.

I need to dodge blasts from the thing's main gun while jumping over wrecks and craters, all the while weaving under and around automatic bolter fire, but it's all relatively easy, like moving at high speed underwater; I am light, I can 'swim' through the air in a way, and injuries seem like a minor bother now.

I use a burned out car as a step and jump straight toward the intersection leading to the ramp, actually running along a wall for a few seconds. I slowly orient my wall running up until I'm going vertically…

Doesn't last long, as the Thunderhawk's guns make short work of whatever support beams were left, trying to get to me, and I soon find myself still running up the sky scraper, yet directly above the street.

The Thunderhawk is gone, but I am about to be squashed by tons of rubbles, so I keep running up and soon perform a mid air backflip with an extra of rubbles and dust, landing on top of the opposite building, which is half the size of the falling one.

Said falling one is also about to crush its smaller brethren, so I run again, jumping off the edge of the roof and to the next. That's a twenty meters jump I barely make and a fifty meters fall. Janus swore to know no fear, but I didn't; I am two scares away from soiling my pants.

The building finishes tilting over and crushes three buildings wide, four buildings long under its massive builk.

I jump almost ten roofs like that, going far past the ramp and constantly looking for a way down, when then 'hawk decides to swoop down for the finishing blow. I'm exposed on these rooftops, but nothing I know can survive this kind of a drop, so getting down is not an option…

Something explodes to my right and I find myself spinning in mid air, trying to find out which way is up.

Seems we're going down.


	5. Chicken

**A/N: I'm having many ideas for powers Jan could develop from consuming Tyranids; Bonesword, bioplasma projector, ****Barbed strangler, acid blood, claws. I don't want to incorporate too many ranged weapons, but I don't want him at a disadvantage either, I also want him to have his own powers, distinct from Mercer's and Heller's (It's the basic idea of this whole story) based on what he'll be consuming, same as his personality, as Mercer and Heller were very dark characters in a relatively hopeful world (Compared to wh40k, it's hopeful), so I'll try to make Jan more of an optimistic idealist. No 'With great power comes great ****responsibilities' stuff, however, more like 'Hey, I'm one of the deadliest living being in the universe. What now?'.**

You ever thought for sure you were going to die? It feels good, makes you feel alive, the fear hurts, but it's a good pain, because while you're feeling it, you know you still live. I've been feeling it non-stop since I found out I had cancer, and I've never been more alive than I was lately.

Even now, as my body twists in the air to put me feet down, I feel the rush of terror and cold sweats all over my skin, and I'm loving it. Hey, I'm dying anyway, might as well draw some fun from it.

A hundred meters fall seems short from the outside, two seconds, maybe, but when it's happening to you, it's quite some time to think.

I actually have time to get bored and look around.

The ground is climbing to meet me, eight Ultramarines to my right waiting for me to squash. I'm going to land right on top of a burned out civilian vehicle, maybe it will cushion my fall enough for the marines to finish the job. Seems the falling building crushed a couple of them

The Thunderhawk is hovering somewhere to the left, squeezed between two burned down buildings. If I had anti-air weaponry, I could really ruin their day; the buildings would prevent any evasive maneuver…

The impact is brutal, but painless, like jumping off the kitchen table when you are a kid. Debris and dust fill the air instantly, the car splitting in half, and, well, I'm still well alive in a knee-deep crater with boulders and chunks of road flying all around me.

Through the dust, I spot two scout marines aiming their guns at me. Everything happens quickly, faster than I can register it all; I jump forward, my feet connect with a boulder as it reaches the height of its ascension and kick the thing straight toward the two marines.

Janus' bolter is still strapped on my back, albeit loosely, since I'm not his size at all. I haven't touched the ground yet that I'm clutching the thing and peppering the cluster of marines. They fight back, but the boulder crushing their two friends and spreading their geneseed over twelve meters of dirty street seems to cause a few to hesitate. Most of them are scouts, newbies relying on their elders for guidance, but I'm too big a problem for the Chaplain, Terminator or assault marines to remember they must guide the new kids.

And they shall know no fear, right? I land with a kneel just as three scouts duck in the debris field behind them.

I have no idea what the Terminator is using, but it burns my chest to a crisp and knocks me back in the crater I just left.

My body seems to have adapted to falling the same way a cat's does and I land on my feet once more, gun snapping up immediately to down one of the assault marines with a burst to the head.

Dispatch the gun fodders first, get them out of the way, stay mobile to avoid more powerful attacks and then focus on the bigger threat. It's the opposite of what Janus was taught; kill the bigger threat, then deal with the smaller ones, but in this case, the smaller ones are walking murder-machines and the bigger ones are even worst, so I'll kill those I think are my size, assimilate them and then use what I learned to kill the big bastards.

I rush forward and tackle –more like hug- a marine almost twice my size, lift him off the floor and slam him in the rubbles hard enough for stress fractures to appear around his pauldrons and chest plate. The other marines stop firing; they don't want to hit their brother. Had they been equipped with smaller weapons, like lasguns or… Actually, not much in the Imperium's armory is tame enough for them to shoot a normal man and not risk collateral damages.

Before I can finish the job, however, something flexible and barbed wraps around my neck, digging in my skin and cutting off all air supply. Not that I seem to need it, my body keeps getting oxygen from somewhere.

I am dragged off toward the collapsed building like a fish on a line. I'm not scared, I don't have any fear left in me, for one, and I'm starting to think nothing on this planet is higher on the food chain than I am.

My head hits something hard with enough strength to crack a normal man's skull. It barely makes me look back. I hit the outer wall of the tower, the tentacle dragging me originates from deep within the ruins, but I'm not going to wait for the face to face like a good boy, this thing wants to have me for dinner? She'll have to earn it.

My whole body spins on the spot like I'm some professional dancer and my feet dig into the thick concrete wall. I mean 'dig' as in, ankle deep into the high quality building material… Well, what's left of it.

Next step once I stop moving is to wrap the tentacle around my right arm and pull as hard as I can, holding my boltgun in the off hand. The resulting scream reminds me of fighting cats and the barbs cut deeply into the skin of my forearms. It doesn't hurt though, bleeding seems to be just for show, a display put on by my body to make me look human.

I pull again, wrapping another length of barbed tentacle around my forearm. Another scream.

Another length, another scream, once, twice… It becomes easier at every pull, to the point I can just stand up and keep pulling on my own two feet. The thing on the other end doesn't seem used to being the prey, doesn't know how to react and simply keeps pulling back, without success.

Soon enough, it gets dragged into the light and its mimicking capacities are temporarily disabled; the thing is massive, with more claws than anything should ever need. The tendril I'm using as fishing line comes from its chest and is surrounded by the claws, so whatever gets pulled in close enough will get chopped to pieces. I'd better not wait for it to be in range, I doubt fighting this thing on its own term would be wise.

The bolt rounds ping against the thing's carapace, some exploding, some bouncing and a few kicking through. The creature's primal mind doesn't register that its only survival chance at this point is to close the gap and fight me. Mayber assimilating that thing won't go toward making me any smarter, but I'm sure I'll get some very nice traits from assimilating it.

The thing quickly grows weaker and has to hold itself up using its claws. This exposes its back and spine, making something inside of me scream in hunger.

Before I realize it, I'm on the thing's back, punching through the base of its neck as tendrils shoot out of my body to rip the Tyranid to shreds.

Tastes like chicken.


	6. The Enemy of My -Quit shooting me!

**A/N: Back! Thought I gone? Inspiration is as unpredictable as the Warp, but I is mine now! (We'll see how long that lasts...)**

…_Eat the strong man… Be Strong… Feed the hive… Survive… Hide… Eat… Kill… Hunt… Shadows hide… Shadows are ours… Let weak men have light… Kill from shadows… Wait… Wait… Waiiiit! Must not be found… Wait for strong men to be gone… Cannot wait… Must have stronger man… Must feed the hive… Kill stronger man… More coming to kill blue men… Eat… Hide… Wait…_

_No! _

_Stronger man too is stronger! Stronger man is too strong! Cannot eat, cannot kill! Must hide! Wait for others to come! Be here soon! Must… _

You mustn't do squat, I'm in charge now…

_Who? Obey._

No.

It keeps quiet after that, leaving only emptiness and silence, something my lunch was terrified of. It's like pulling a tooth out then feeling the empty space with your tongue, feels good but wrong at the same time.

This… Voice, was both my prey and something else, talking as one, following one will like two fingers of the same hand. I probably just ate a nail, not the whole finger, because it showed no sign of being worried or angry when I jacked the connection, just curious as to why I wouldn't obey.

But the last thing it said gives me something to think about. Others are coming. Flyers who spit fire like fairy tale dragons.

I turn to the Ultramarines. Half the monster I just ate is bleeding out on the floor behind me, missing its brain and spine. They have their weapons raised and ready to tear me apart…

I could retreat into the darkness where my lunch had been hiding, but its memories tell me there are no way out back there, so that's not an option. The Chaplain takes a step forward, staff in hand, and orders the others to hold their fire… For now.

"What is your name, boy?" He calls, apparently talking to me. I suppose you could mistake my hesitation for fear, that's likely what he did. Doesn't matter, maybe we can actually sort this out now that I'm talking to someone with half a brain.

"I'm Jan…" I'm also Janus, but that isn't relevant right now.

"You are not of Chaos, you fight the Tyranids… Where do you stand?"

That… Is quite a good question. "Whichever side is not trying to kill me at present…" Is the best answer I find.

The Ultramarines are not convinced, I just went through massacring their trainees, took a massive bite out of a 'nid and now here I am, making idle chat with their resident warp expert. That doesn't fit comfortably in their nice and clean worldview.

Welcome to the club, just being alive right now doesn't fit into _my _worldview…

"There is an old saying," the Chaplain speak, "seek out the enemy of your enemy and you will have found a friend." Yeah, right, as if…

There's only four of them left; the Terminator, Assault Marine, Chaplain and a Tactical Marine with cracked pauldrons, way too few to take out the wave of Harpies and Gargoyles bearing down on us. Way too few to take me out. Their Thunderhawk is the only flyer they have in the area, it won't do them much good in either scenario, but there's little chance I can take out the Tyranids on my own, not to mention they could tell me what's happening.

No, not with the invasion, I don't really care about that, I want to know why I can jump-kick man sized boulders and crush scout marines with them.

"Famous last words," I don't let him think about it and quickly follow up, "Enemy flyers are inbound from the south, Gargoyles and Harpies, you big guys better seek cover…" Tactical guy looks at the Terminator, then the Chaplain, then me. All three of us nod and his cracked shoulders rise slowly in a deep sigh.

"I think I saw this in a vid once." He growls, hopping down in an impact crater, the one I left when hitting the ground.

This is messed up in too many senses, one second I'm plowing through their ranks, picking them out like daisies, the next we're shoulder to shoulder –shoulder to waist, since the Terminator and I are kneeling behind the same burnt fire truck and that's just hilariously ironic if you ask me-.

I never saw a Gargoyle before, but Janus did and it's not pretty; bioplasma projector, swarms that darken the sky, fangs sharper than a chainsword teeth. He never saw a Harpy first hand, however, but studies indicate they serve as bombers of sort.

That thing, the one I just ate, was a Lictor, an ambusher, I try to switch to its form, like I turned into Janus, but though I can feel its essence in me –which I do realize comes across as utterly disturbing-, I cannot seem to bring it forth. I could do it with Janus, but there really is no point in further spooking my new allies. Instead, I focus on parts of its essence, the claws carapace and barbed tendrils.

Everything's a trade off, not just in me, in everything; mankind improved their brainpower at the cost of muscle strength, the Eldars more so, the Orkz did the exact opposite, developing an hyper-resilient biology at the cost of reduced brainpower. I can evolve on the personal scale, however, and that means a conscious investment, no to mention trial and error.

Sentience guides my body, but the laws of nature bind it. The Lictor's claws are too alien for me to integrate them to a human morphology, it wouldn't be viable, carapace is even worst. The tendrils, however… My chest is too narrow for the required musculature.

DNA spins, uncurls, combines and is repurposed in a matter of second. My left arm extends by thirty centimeters and expends by half as much. Muscles are exposed, skin is merely a barrier against infections, one I don't need, a waste of biomass, the long barbed organ is curled around a thin bone inside the arm, about ten meters of length, though I can produce more if needed.

The Terminator is unfazed and merely readies his massive gauntlet gun. It's on the left arm, same as my new weapon… Funny.

Jan Rey, the cancerous dock worker, wouldn't have heard the hellish flight's approach, but I do. I track its movements from eight streets away. The others, set up ten steps back, in the crater, hear it too, so no need to warn them.

At the last second, I trade another of my arm's functions, the retracting muscles, set up on my upper arm, to strengthen the propellers and gain more flexibility. The Lictor used its tendrils like a Chameleon, to bring back its prey. I only need them out of the sky.

Seventy meters. They're at the intersection now, perpendicular to our position. You know, maybe running away would have been a better idea? Bolter rounds just kicked through me, but bio-plasma will certainly do far more damage and there is more than a dozen gargoyles out there…

The deafening scream reminds me there are Harpies as well, but it doesn't bother me as much as it does the others. They have super-acute earing, whereas I just edited out my eardrums.

Silence makes everything look so peaceful. It's in complete quietness that I shoot my first length of biological barbed wire. Ten meters of hooks and twitching muscles programmed to contract as soon as they hit something; they graze a Gargoyle and, faster than the eye can follow, it is wrapped like a roast-beef, tumbling out of the sky quietly like some dark snowflake in the first days of winter.

Plasma showers my position, splashing against the Terminator's chest as he rakes in a few impossible kills with his lumbering gun. Another length of tendril flies out and this time hits an Harpy's left wing, bunching the limb like leathery paper, but I don't see the thing fall. The Thunderhawk opens fire with everything it's got and, all of a sudden, I feel rather redundant.

Hundreds of Gargoyles are blow apart like so many balloons in a hailstorm, whatever they throw at the massive vessel just bounces off harmlessly or trickles down like rain…

Every tendril I shoot weakens me, takes away some biomass; it's not much, but for a long-lasting battle, it's not viable. I grab a gargoyle with this new whip and slurp it back into punching range. It's resilient, but I'm strong and soon break its carapace open like a clam. Once again, what was two become one and I hear that voice, questioning me on my nature and allegiance. The humans won't let me live, but the hive would welcome me to its fold, I would be… and it's gone.

What do we have now? Wings? Useless, I'm way too dense and it would take way too much muscle mass to keep me aloft. Bioplasma projector? It would cost even more than the tendrils to fire, but it's possible. Claws? Weak, I'm better off punching stuff…

Odd, however, that they wouldn't use these… Fleshborers? Janus really was no scholar, but these Gargoyles are not average, they are costly units and hardly more efficient than regular Gargoyles, so why the waste of resources?

Could they have known I'd be here and developed a different tactic just to take me down? Fleshborers most likely wouldn't have worked on me, so they brought the big guns… That Lictor told them I had been knocked flat by the Terminator's plasma weaponry and it attacked as soon as my weakness was revealed. Of course.

This hive mind wants me, it's obsessed by me. Good, I'm hungry.

This time, I latch to an Harpy in the middle of a bombing run and it is I who gets pulled up. Not a second too soon; the Terminator gets melted down to the cellular level a second after I leave the ground. Almost got me there you overgrown… I don't know, call me crude, but I can't think of an analogy. Sure isn't a flying horse, because when I try to ride it, it grown berserk and rams itself into the Thunderhawk.

Oh, and it's worth noting that said vessel is currently crawling with Gargoyles looking for a weak spot. They shoot, they bite, they claw and they die when my ride smacks into them. Switching back to my fists, I dive headfirst into the writhing mass. Janus was one hell of a psychopath, but bringing up his battle lust sure makes this stupid idea far more enticing. Something bites me, something dies horribly. A gapping maw snaps at my face, saliva and blood sprinkling my skin as it fights to close the distance.

Yeah, a fist through the chest tends to reduce one's mobility.

I absorb the Gargoyle like a sponge on a recaf spill. Another takes its place and gets its lower jaw ripped off. So, yeah, maybe I got carried away just now, fortunately, my friends the Tyranid look after me and splash my back with either acid or plasma. Another Gargoyle joins the party in me and the voice comes back.

_You are the apex. We are the apex, only one will live, one will feed the other. Join us, feed us, you will be the greatest hunter of all._

I want to. Before, it could only transmit words, but for every Tyranid I consume, I lose some weight, it gains ground, makes more sense, makes me want what it offers.

I kill again, letting the corpses fall off the ship, and search myself for the source of its power. Tyranid essence; it fuses with mine, makes me like them, the more I have in me, the strongest the hive mind's influence will be in those short seconds after I consume a warrior. Once I've assimilated, digested if you will, the prey's essence, the voice becomes quiet, but comes back stronger the next time.

I'm tuning in, with every Tyranid I consume, the connection gets stronger… Let's be more selective of who we assimilate from now on, shall we?

I use a dead Gargoyle as projectile and it smashes against an Harpy's face. There's my answer for you.

Not much activity from the Ultramarines, guess they didn't make it. Their dropship isn't going to last much longer either… Scratch that, Gargoyles just pried the side hatch open, it's good as dead now, time to see if the grass is greener elsewhere.


	7. Body Snatcher

**A/N: So, Just recovered from some kind of infection that pretty much tried to roast my brain. Still a little out of it and didn't have time to proof read, so let me know if something looks off.**

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone, I'm surprised by how popular this fic is, but then again, most people make Prototype fics into stomp fests...**

I know this city like the back of my hand, which doesn't mean much since my hand is now a mangled mess of muscles and bones and this city was bombed out of shape when I was not looking. It's like an abstract painting; you recognize the shapes, but dimensions and perspectives are all wrong.

Buildings are bent, leaning on each other or reaching across the road, cracks in the ground and rows of craters open new arteries and alleys amongst the streets, rivers flow through the residential district and the docks are on fire, a super tanker full of promethium slouched on a landing pad, its exposed flank spurting out fuel like a stock pig.

Gargoyles fill the sky, looking for me, but stay away from the fire, not even bothering to fly over it. Maybe they know something I don't, or maybe they see in infrared and this furnace is a dark spot to them.

I'm perched on a stone gargoyle, built into the governor's palace, itself built at the highest point of the city. The slums and old park are located somewhere behind and to the left, out of sight. The Astarte were killed in the administrative district, dead ahead, and although Janus would be infuriated to have abandoned his brothers, whoever I am now does not care.

That is quite the question; who am I? No, I mean, _what_ am I? A shape shifter, that much is obvious, but it's much more than that.

I have been thinking a lot in the… What? Twenty, thirty minutes I spent running away. Not just about what to do next, but about everything I know, everything Janus knows and all that Dana taught me, about biology and evolution, mutations and adaptation.

Basically, I'm not a shape shifter, I'm a genetic scavenger, like the Kroots, only I can reorganize my body to the cellular level at will, which means… What does it mean? Do I have a spine? A heart, lungs, so forth? Perhaps that's what limits the shapes I can take on; biological viability.

You know what's funny? Neither Jan Rey nor Janus were half that knowledgeable, but then we came together, I started thinking and there we are! The more I think, the easier it is.

But back to my parasitic traits; I tries to think up new forms, simple claws or a shield, but that won't work. I need genetic material, blueprints if you will, to show my body what I want. Perhaps if I consumed a biologist, or were one myself, I could have created new appendices, but right now, I am what I eat.

Makes sense from an evolutionary standpoint; why invent the wheel when you can steal it from your neighbor?

Except my current neighbors have some watchdog guarding their wheel and it'll steal take my whole cart if I come too close…

But let's get to the fun stuff, right? While getting chased, it occurred to me that I was regenerating and producing biomass out of thin air. Warp magic? Doubtful. My guess is that whatever it is I am now is neither plant not animal and both at the same time, it's a virus, a bacteria and a fungus, yet none of the above. It's whatever it has to be. It will derive nutrients from sunlight and ambient humidity if needed, draw insects to itself like a fly trap and eat them as well.

Basically, I heal up whenever I'm not getting shot up, this overclocks my muscles, or Janus' muscles, making them infinitely more efficient than they normally could be, like fueling your hovercar with rocket propellant. Damages done to the muscle tissues as a result are irrelevant and instantly fixed, and the improved Astarte bone structure Janus helpfully provided, combined with the lightweight carapace of the Lictor…

Well, I don't know. A magos or Apothecary would know more, but the deeper aspects of my own nature elude me… In fact, I'm starting to think whatever this organism is, it merely uses my consciousness as a… Driver, out of convenience, by default. What if I hadn't been in there when it consumed Janus? Would his consciousness have been the dominant one? Perhaps I was this thing's first victim…

Doesn't matter, it wants to live and so do I, so I'll play along. First things first, there are two apex predators on this planet, the Tyranid and yours truly, by mother nature's own rule, one of them has to die.

It won't be me.

The 'nids have numbers, but I have a face and it can be anyone's. Why do you think I'm sitting on the Governor's palace?

Snack time.

The place is well guarded, but I somehow slipped through the defense grid when I lured a thousand Tyranid flyers right to it, meaning the harder part is already taken care of.

Getting in the palace proper? Impossible to a regular dock worker. A walk in the park to me.

I shoot tendrils out the heel of my boots and run along the building's wall like a gecko on recaf. Another stone gargoyle forces me to resume horizontal navigation, hopping on the thing's ugly head and leaping across the fifteen meters to the next one and so on until I am in position over an overweight PDF sergeant trying to coax a recruit barely out of puberty into taking his pants off.

They're in an alcove four meters ahead, thirty meters down. A quick look around to ensure nobody's looking and I dive in with a short backflip seconds before landing.

Hey, I'm fast enough to dodge bullets, why not have some fun here and there?

"Who… What…" Are the Sergeant's last words. He's not even fully facing away from the boy when my fist punctures his bloated face.

Yuck… Oh by the fields of Terra! This man had… Yuck! Emperor preserves me from fat Sarges with a taste for pre-teenagers!

Okay, you fat son of a goat, what's your name? First Sergeant Bellan Ashker. A wife, two daughters… Oh you sorry excuse for a human being! A man that does that to his own daughter deserves to be ripped apart by some nightmarish creature fallen from the roof.

The gate code, the Sergeant's deployment orders, the names of his squad members… Okay, let's get out of that man's mind and never touch it again.

I need a shower. With a flamethrower.

The kid passed out, saving me a lot of trouble, so I just leave him there and make my way to the front door. The courtyard is filled with tents and ammo dumps. Half the PDF got crammed around the palace, but our good governor won't let the men use the palace as housing and cover.

Doesn't surprise me, corrupt noblemen are as common as… Well, corrupt PDF officers. This guy doesn't understand his people are getting slaughtered in the streets, he only cares about his own safety because he's never known anything else.

They let me through the door without a hitch. Soft music and soft lights greet me. The Sergeant was a big fan of that kind of music and I almost enjoy it as a result. Almost. It's like someone fell asleep on a piano and twitches every once in a while.

Me, I'm a slum kid, I like my music to cause sensory overload and ear bleeding, I need to feel the sound with my bones.

Ah nevermind. The main stair is covered in what looks like red pubic hairs. Ashker knows it's an expensive carpet, but I just choke the Sarge's personality until it recedes. By the time I stop seeing pictures of things that would make a Dark Eldar sick, I'm right outside the Governor's chambers.

The Sarge's fists are like a baby's and they make a dull sound when knocking against the expensive woodwork.

I've never been overweight, it's strange… Blast, I have breasts!

"What do you want?" Roars the Governor from within his chambers.

Your face. "Sir, I have an update on your evacuation request." I don't know if he actually requested an evacuation, but, come on, who am I kidding?

"Come on in!" I'm barely through the door that he's over me like a drunk sailor on a cheap whore. "What did they say?" Bloody fields of Terra, couldn't I, just once, get to consume someone that does not weight as much as a Dreadnought and look like they were smacked in the face with a shovel minutes after birth. "Talk to me, Sergeant!"

Room's empty. Good. "I've arranged something." I switch back to my original self, the muscular, thin and comparatively good looking dock worker, "You'll be coming with me." I didn't mean for him to soil himself, I just wanted to be myself for just a moment before being some other overweight piece of fat.

The feces soiling his robes don't seem to bother the tendrils much as they tear him to pieces and pull every last bit of biomass into me. And that is just… Ugh, I need vacations.

The Governor, despite being lazy and a coward, was actually quite smart. Couldn't be bothered to learn the configuration of his own capital city, but history, art, philosophy… Wow, the man had some actual standards! He pulled the PDF out of the way to avoid unnecessary losses while Space Marines cleared the city, knowing he was not a skilled enough leader, nor his men good enough fighters to make a difference.

That was then.

A sevo-skull hovers to me, awaiting instructions from the Governor.

"Contact…" No Generals, no Colonels, the Planetary Defence force is led by a Major. A corrupt Major. "Contact Major Vaner and Captain Olenk." I order, "Tell them to meet me in my chamber."

And I get to work on the overall strategy as the skull beeps in acknowledgement.

There's plenty of entertainment material in this room, all of which I stow under the bed. Drapes, curtains and expensive painting are all stashed in a corner of the room and I rip an ornate map of the capital off the wall by the bed.

Not exactly to scale, gothic letters take way too much space, hiding details from view and much of the alleys and newest sectors are not being shown, but it will do.

On the opposite wall, hung in between two expensive looking stained glass windows, is a depiction of the whole planet, with the location of every city across the four main continents.

How many people live on Baria? Thousands? Millions? More? So much biomass… That's what the Tyranid are after. Blast, that's what I would be after.

Two officers enter the chamber, but only the Captain, a small woman not good looking enough to have earned her rank by sleeping with superiors, salutes me.

I'm on the tall, muscle bound Major's case within a heartbeat. "What's wrong, Vaner? You don't take orders from me anymore? Or did saluting superiors grow out of fashion while I wasn't looking?"

He blinks repeatedly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish's in a bowl.

"I don't want to hear it, _Private_, you're out of the game, check with Sergeant Ashker for your new assignment!" Vaner finally speaks.

"You can't…"

"One more word and I have you executed for incompetence, treason, abuse of authority and being to dumb to let live!" I love this. I should have stolen the Governor's face years ago!

"I know things, _Sir…"_ The Major's tone grows dangerous. "If I fall, you're…"

Olenk needs nothing but a nod on my part to smear the bed with Vaner's brain.

"No, you knew things." Damn shame I had to kill him, he'd have been a far more pleasant… Host? Face?

Olenk jumps a little when I turn to her. "Captain, you're the new commander in chief of the Planetary Defence Force…" I wave her over to the maps, now spread on a desk that must have cost more than I make in a year. "I need to know where all our forces are on the planet, but in the meantime, I need you to take our reserves and secure the business district."

She frowns, her massive hat tilting forward without the support of her eyebrows. "Reserve forces, Governor?"

"The ones I stationed at the palace. Don't worry, captain, I have my personal guard, now spread these men into three groups and enter the district from the North, South and the skyway, to the West."

Olenk nods slowly, "A pincer formation." She mutters. Smart girl, could have been an Imperial Guard officer, hadn't some old pig, who's body I'm burrowing right now, held her back. "How do we get troops to the North?"

My plump finger traces a path along the edge of the docks. "There's a ruptured drainage pipe here, goes all the way from… Well, it goes far." I shouldn't reveal too much, they'll wonder how I could know from sitting in my bloody room.

"Understood, sir…" She goes to leave, but freezes, "Uh… Sir, might I ask you a question?"

Take a guess what that question could be. Why did you suddenly go insane and grow a pair? Have you been hijacked by some xeno scum?

"Not now, _Major_, get to work!" She salutes me once more and leaves without sparing a single glance to Vaner's corpse.

The servo-skull hovers back to my side, as though reading my mind, and I turn to it. "Have someone throw him in the furnace before he starts to stink…" It beeps in agreement and I fetch the Major's bolt pistol. Better to shoot things while I'm supposed to be some overweight slug, punching through a Genestealer's chest to pull its heart out would be out of character a bit…


	8. Inquisit Interlude

**A/N: Speedoverpower: Yup.**

**HegemonAlexandrov: Yup.**

**Kane: Well, the point of Jan is that he's light hearted, somewhat idealistic (For the 40k verse) and utterly lost, maybe at some point he'll have the capacity to spawn his own army, but it won't be anything like Mercer's or Greene's, because the things he faces require a far different approach.**

You'd be amazed all an insane overweight man in his late forties can accomplish within a week.

The PDF are amateurs, lazy and undisciplined bums with guns, but that means replacing them is easy as can be, just search the refugee camps for hungry young men and women, give them a lasgun and some food and throw them at the frontline.

How many people live on this planet? A million? A billion? More? And I can draft every last one of them if I see fit. The Tyranids and I are now on equal footing. Game time.

I'd like to say I've set up military discipline and made a decent army out of this mess, but I didn't. I'm still leading my newfound troops using outdated, inaccurate maps and the most complex tactical maneuver we use is "Don't run the wrong way or the nice men on the machine guns will cut you down.

Cruel? Maybe, but then, so will the 'nids be if they reach those camps.

And they're not reaching them. Not on my watch.

Janus wants to wipe out his foes, the Sergeant doesn't get to want and the Governor, oddly enough, wants to preserve his people. Me, Jan Rey, I want… Throne, I don't know what it is I want out of this. Just… Be. I want to live, and for that, I need to stop the Tyranid invasion. I want to win.

The business district is locked down, the docks are done burning and I've gotten both back in business. Imperial Guard and Astarte vessels re-arm and refit at the repurposed shipyards while legions of desk jockeys in the offices sort out the planet's supply lines and help organize this mess.

Neither the Ultramarines' Captain nor the Imperial Guard General have deigned get in contact with me yet, but their troops stopped acting as though the PDF wasn't there.

It's not just in the capital; I've made sure every city on the planet still under our control resumes production and secures its valuable assets.

The Governor had vast personal funds, which I drained to the last credit to boost the economy and coax people back to work. Whatever I had left, I used to buy out every hive gangs, mobs, mercenaries and muscles for hires I could find.

The Tyranids are not being pushed back, however, and have spread across the wilderness like a flood of meat, but we're shoring up our defences in the cities and along the supply routes…

That's all I can do with these twits, even with the new recruiting policy, cheap as dirt Mesh armor and most cost-effective lasguns I could get, the PDF will never root out the Xenos without some… Shock… Unit?

Olenk looks up when four Shock Troopers barge into my chamber. They pause.

The whole palace was turned into a fortress, the Governor's chambers were repurposed as a command bunker, filled to the roof and some parts of the floor with Vox communicators, landline connections and the sizable staff needed to man all of this.

The Troopers look around briefly, find the fattest bastard around and walk up to me, disgust painted across their faces.

It's odd, being hated on principle, not because of anything you did. I could break these guys blindfolded and with my hands bound, yet they see me as beneath them because that's what I look like.

"Governor O'ran?" The eldest of them speaks, not quite at attention, but close enough that I know I've got the message across just fine with that involuntary glare.

"Himself." That's a lie, but it's not really… Life is odd sometimes.

He nods to the others and they spread out, taking defensive positions by the door and behind me. The leader waits for their thumbs up to call someone in his helmet vox.

You know what they say? About Inquisitors? Nothing relevant, because nobody who's actually seen an Inquisitor is dumb enough to talk about it.

She's a lot like Olenk, only taller, darker and scarier… And that's coming from a man who can recover from direct impacts with anti-tank weaponry.

The Inquisitor squeezes herself in between the Shock Trooper and PDF Major, in front of my desk. Her green eyes, from under that fancy hat, pierce my skull the same way a bolter round would.

She knows I'm fake, I've been way too obvious! I've been power hungry and now I'm stuck in a cage I built for myself. What should I do? Kill everyone in the room before she reveals my secret? Kill her and make something up? No. I'm not fake, I'm Governor O'ran, she can't prove I'm not… Because I am, down to his childhood memories.

"Inquisitor," I greet with a courteous nod, "has my service displeased His most holy Inquisition?"

The hard glare subsides and is replaced with a smug grin, "On the contrary, excellency, you have served him well, so well in fact that rumours were beginning to spread…"

Rumours? She's here because of rumours? Nobody expects the Inquisition, but you would be justified in expecting the Inquisition to be competent, at least…

"What sort of rumours?"

"Oh, the silliest sort; that you had been the victim of a palace coup, that you had fallen to the ruinous powers… Your political enemies are many, but the Inquisition is not amongst them." She looks into my eyes like a lizard stalking a grub, smiling as though we're just playing an especially childish game.

"Glad to hear, perhaps you could lend us some assistance?"

She seems to think it's hilarious; her laugh is not crystalline or whichever bullskak you'd expect from a lady such as her, it's the type of honest belly laugh you hear in a tavern coming from drunken sailors. "But of course, Excellency, I did not come here to pat you in the back…"

A snap of her finger and our maps are swept aside by the leader of her guard, replaced by a set of highly detailed orbital images printed an hour earlier.

"Where do you need my elite troops, Governor?" The Inquisitor's ever present grin feels… Plastic. She points to a set of dots, identified on the planetary map as Elysian Drop Troops. A thousand of Elysia's finest, ready to drop anywhere on Baria within five minutes.

Perhaps it's out of character, but I can't hold back a smirk, "Why, Inquisitor, it is only our first date, flowers would have sufficed…" The smile is genuine now and I savour that small victory before returning to the job at hand. "I lack any air capacities, but we've got plenty of men and tanks… I'll send my forces against a few key positions and whenever they get stalled, your airborne troops will jump in and break the Tyranid's back…" Her eyes lose all humor and I clear my throat, "If that's fine with you…"

"But of course, Excellency, I will make sure my retinue is ready for your call." And, just like that, she's gone, along with her guards, but without the maps.

Interesting day. Now, I don't need to drink, but the refugees do and all those busted pipes are making it difficult… "Olenk, I need a garrison and some civilian engineers near the industrial district, I think we can use this flood to our advantage…"

The Major looks at the updated map and nods once, giving the order in her vox caster before turning back to me. Her eyes sparkle with intelligence, that's why I picked her. I should have thought twice about it…

"That Inquisitor…" She begins, uncertain.

I finish for her, "She's planning to kill me."

"Why?"

"Better safe than sorry." Olenk doesn't smile. Her home is getting thorn apart by monsters, her family is missing and her Governor was replaced by someone or something far more competent yet way beyond her comprehension. She's too honest to smile.

"What are you going to do?"

I pretend to think about it for a moment, then shrug, "Kill her back?"


	9. Field Trip

I don't know when it happened, nor if it was intended, but I soon find myself with absolutely nothing to do. I mean, I'm running a whole planet, right? Then why is it that everything seems to take care of itself? I have an association of engineering students and teachers in every city building up defenses and basic amenities without any supervision on my part, all I had to do is nod at one of my aides at some point in the last hour.

But that's not all, of course, only everything else is equally taken care of; Olenk is just as qualified to lead the PDF as Janus and the Sergeant were, if not more, and I barely have to provide noncommittal answers whenever she asks whether we should do this or that, the economy is managing itself thanks to free market and refugees are turning into recruits faster than we are losing men, and we're losing a lot.

So… Here I am, in the palace's library, reading restricted scientific works on biology and evolution. I assimilate whole tomes within just a few hours, optimising my mind the same way I would increase my strength or speed.

There's nothing on beings such as myself, except perhaps the Kroots, as I suspected earlier, but that's not what I'm looking for.

Extremophiles; organisms that can survive and thrive in the most hostile environments known to man. Most of them are bacteria and viruses, possibly just as I am, and the rest are Orkoïds.

Let's say I consume a bacteria that can survive direct contact with molten lava, or an algae capable to survive near underwater volcanoes, perhaps that would improve my resistance to plasma, but I would have to reach them and that's the issue.

It has been nothing but guesswork and luck so far, but now I have a plan and I need to think things through. If I want to consume something, to steal its traits, then it's because I lack that trait, it has an advantage on me, a strength where I am weak, therefore…

Well, that's my next topic of interest; predation. The Tyranids have a definitive biological advantage on me right now, they have a massive genetic repertory to adapt and improve themselves, whereas I'm stuck with whatever is at hand on Baria, thanks to that shadow they cast in the Warp.

But the Tyranids are not magical beings, their genetic material is not somehow supernatural, they took animals and plants, distilled desirable traits and improved upon them. I can do the same.

So our good Governor is going on a tour around Baria! First stop is the northern volcanic islands, then the north west ice fields, followed by the equatorial… Well, the equator alternates between jungle, savannah and deserts. Doesn't matter, I'm not going out in the wild to collect specimens; these places have major cities, meaning laboratories, Zoos and animal shelters.

My targets? A sample of that fireproof bacteria, a Calibanite Lion and a whole collection of desert scorpions and spiders.

If anyone asks, I'm just overseeing the war effort. If anyone asks why I'm arm wrestling a giant spiked lion, I'll just eat… Are you serious?

The library is massive; two stories with a pair of granite stairs spiralling down on either side of the couch and fireplace on the lower level, which is where I'm seated right now, facing away from the door…

And someone just put a round through the back of my skull, splattering the books and fire with orphaned biomass. I fall forward and keep the hole in my head wide open.

Yeah, that's right, don't be shy, come take a closer look… You know you want to!

Footsteps, hesitant at first, cross the thirty meters of sterile granite, muffled despite the room's acoustics. I still hear them, thanks to Janus' ears.

He makes his way around the couch and to the low table I'm slouched over. Checking for a pulse gets him nowhere, I don't need one, but his fingers press to my neck nonetheless.

A second later, they press to my ear.

"Objective complete, target eliminated." Loran Beck-Usris speaks, his voice booming across the library like rolling thunder.

His masters, called the Whispers, call him back to base and he confirms.

The Whispers are a death cult, assassins raised from birth, and Loran was an especially skilled one. Was.

Now I'm an especially skilled assassin and Loran is sitting at the back of the bus. Marksmanship, infiltration, patience, close combat… Blast, it's unbelievable all a mere human can do! And look at those muscles! The assassin is a a killing machine; focused, calculating, analytic… Predatory. Unlike the Sergeant, who's personality I barely touched, this one I embrace, merge with to the point where its reflexes become my reflexes.

But for all that knowledge and skill, my new friend has no clue why the good Governor had to die, he was an empty shell, a weapon with no free will or independent thought beyond obeying orders and serving the God-Emperor.

Now, I can go on that tour and collect genetic material or head for Loran's extraction and feed on the Whispers' knowledge and skills…

To say my decision is motivated solely by a desire of remaining as human as possible would be only partly true. The true reason is that I'm bored out of my mind and the second option promises far more excitement… But someone would notice all the blood, realize the Governor is missing and that would blow my cover, so I switch back to the fat nobleman and head to my chambers, where I arrange for transport and an armed escort. Olenk is unfazed by my decision. She knows I'm not who I pretend to be and since she accepted it, has become immune to all the strange skak I get up to.

My personal guard is armed with hellguns and sports carapace armor, but that's just garnish, they're amateurs. Janus didn't know much about regular infantry other than how to kill them, but as they file in the transport ship's massive cargo bay, their weapons hot and pointed all over the place with no regard for safety regulation, I feel the same disdain Loran would.

The hatch seals me in with these idiots and I spend the whole trip meditating, almost sleeping but not quite, a state of mind I acquired from mixing Janus and Loran. It's either that or kill everyone in this place out of boredom.

First thing military men learn is to unplug their brain, go through utterly boring events, such as the inspection of this backwater town's defences, like servitors go about their work.

I swear, the Sniper and Space Marine's combined patience barely get me through all the automated turrets, chain link fences and concrete walls.

The officer in charge of this place offers to escort me back to my shuttle, in a hurry to get rid of me, but I wave him away before turning to my personal guard.

"Men!" I boom, standing in the middle of a bullet riddled street, "I want you to spread around the perimeter and make sure it is secure, I will be inspecting the new water treatment plant."

They exchange confused glances with the local militia, but do as they are instructed and I go get myself an algae based skin treatment, sort of…

The water plant consists of three tanks and a catwalk, surpassing the whole. Diving in the first tank teaches me something important; I don't float.

And I mean, not at all. No amount of flailing or lightening changes that; I just sink like a rock. No need to panic; gills are already a part of the human genome, evolutionary leftovers, so I just walk at the bottom up to the filters leading to the next tank. Sure enough, there's enough green goo there to feed a vegetarian for a week.

I perform a short underwater victory dance when the mess of genomes provides me with precisely what I'm looking for.

The improvement is, however, minimal, and I'd need to build a hard shell to become actually resistant to plasma fire, and that shell would be vulnerable to impacts… We'll work on that.

I have to kick myself out of the water, but the plant is automated, nobody noticed a thing and I just walk back to my transport.

The pilot looks puzzled when I tell her to take off without my personal guard, but I provide a sensible explanation, "They're all idiots anyway!" on which we agree, and we're off to go wrestle a lion.

I feel no excitement at the prospect, it's like I'm cheating, there's no challenge to it… Working at the docks was more exciting…

The nobles who own the lion prove to be more of a problem than the aging, almost dying beast itself. They don't understand why I need their pet (If you can call something you keep behind electrified fences a pet) to come with me.

"Because I say so and I can have you all executed if you refuse." I explain to the couple, which are not as convinced as they should be. I should have kept the guards, it would have made me look more official, right now I'm just a fat guy with expensive robes asking for them to hand out some expensive exotic creature for no apparent reason.

Time to get smart, I suppose. "We believe it might be immune to Tyranid infection," I lie, hoping that they don't know enough about Tyranids to point out they don't infect anything, "With it, we can create a vaccine, but the Tyranids know that too, they will be trying to reach it first…"

Nobles. They act high and mighty up until it's their arses on the line; the poor thing is aboard my shuttle within the next hour.

Its scales, hollow quills freely floating around, provide the solution for my hard-shell problem. The conic shape, honeycomb structure and muscle support allow significant kinetic protection, combined with the algae, I successfully cover myself with microscopic quills, making me passively resistant to a lot of things.

I could increase the quills' size too, make them into a full body suit of sort…

And its hooked claws might prove useful in the future, if I can adapt them to my physiology…

It is only once we reach our final destination that the pilot realizes the lion is gone. She leans into the cargo bay carefully and removes her flight cap to scratch the back of her skull, finally deciding not to ask any questions.

Smart lady.


	10. The Whispers In My Head

**A/N: Been thinking, I'm not sure whether Jan should have a soul or not. I mean, he's a virus pretending he's human, but then, he kind of absorbs people's minds, their souls sort of... I don't know, thinking about it.**

**And I know now that Calibanite Lions might be warp beasts, well consider the last one to be a case of people calling a zebra a horse. It looked like one, so they assumed it was one. **

**Kane: I believe you will have your answer soon... As mentioned, I'm still thinking about warp energies, but I can tell you, it's going to be fun! **

**Vermin-Lord: Yeah, I don't understand why, so much wasted potential there, your protagonist can be a general, then a private, then a president all in the course of a single day!**

**NPC200: It's like Soviet Russia; either you fight or you starve, at least if you fight, you have a chance of living through the week... **

The Whispers are here. Five minutes into the walled off perimeter and all my experience is screaming ambush.

So many vantage points… Four guard towers, at two kilometers from one another, surround the perimeter, a four hundred meters obelisk overlooks the whole area and everything in between is either greenhouses or habitation modules.

There are only two streets, meeting into a wide circle at the base of the obelisk, the rest is just dark alleys.

Not that darkness bothers me much, but it will certainly push the two or three assassins tailing our dear Governor into action. I don't want that, this place is crowded and I'm still recovering from taking in too much of that last assassin. I'm still me, but his will was strong, it made me want to become him for a moment, and I almost let it, now… Shen?

A woman walks past me in the street, her face unreadable, and she smiles sheepishly when my eyes won't pry themselves off her. She has those narrow and dark eyes and straight hairs typical in the southern islands, but a pale skin, almost glowing in the sunset.

Shen?! What is she doing here… Who's Shen? What's going on?

I turn to look at her some more, but bump into someone and, in the split second of inattention, the woman is gone.

I don't have any siblings, my parents and I never really got along and they never mentioned any family, but that woman, coming from the other side of the planet, stirred something… Strange. I'm thinking little sister, annoying, clumsy and always on my back, but deep inside, I love the brat and nobody but me can hurt her.

Which me? Which one do you think? That bloody assassin! I didn't explore his thoughts like I normally do, I just took them in and it seems a few parasites came along…

If Loran was raised from birth in the Whispers, how much are you willing to bet his sister was too?

Doesn't matter, Shen's a good kid, nothing like her brother, I'm not killing her. Oh I could and wouldn't hate myself for it, but… Maybe I can't… Maybe she represents a lifeline to my humanity…

Enough. Time to dance.

They won't go the sniper route; Shen just scouted me, she had a good hard look at my face, more than she needs for a confirmation. The two other observers will coordinate everything and hitmen in the crowd will get the job done, most likely with poison or hidden blades.

I can't spot them, even Loran wasn't good enough for that, but they can spot me easily. I need to dispatch the observers, starting with the one two hundred meters further, past the late night traffic, by a ration dispenser built into a greenhouse's flank.

The other is all the way up that obelisk. I didn't see them, that's just where I would be.

I duck right, between two habitation modules and temporarily out of sight. A boosted jump gets me two modules further and I switch back to my own face, only with clothes matching the local population; tan short sleeved shirt worn under a brown leather jacket with a greenish scarf around my neck and cheap sunglasses on my head.

The rest stays as it is, torn cargo pants and expired shoes.

A dive left gets me out of my pursuers' sight before they can enter the alley and I jog back into the street just as a pair of vagrants enter the same alley I disappeared in.

A hundred and seventy meters further, a man dressed much as I am is talking excitedly to his watch.

A dead Major's boltgun somehow finds itself tucked in the back of my belt, under the heavy coat. I won't have to run my fist through the man's chest, apparently.

Going with the flow, I close the distance slow and steady, the man growing more and more agitated as his goons fail to find the Governor. Vendors, set up in stalls or straight out of their habitation modules, yell at me to come look at what they have, try to coax me with special discounts for progenia students and PDF soldiers. Ignore most of them, most except one. He doesn't have such great merchandise, mostly rags and second hand clothes.

I don't need clothes, I need cover; the observer is just across the street, scrutinizing everyone and everything, a hand ready to grip that autopistol in his inner pocket.

The moment he sees me pull my gun, he'll warn the others and I'll have Emperor knows how many snipers gunning at me, snipers with lasguns, which I've yet to go up against and could very well be just as bad as plasma.

Stealth is the name of the game. I walk away from the store dodge back in an alley.

If nobody spots the Governor, they'll call off the hit and… And… Oh who am I kidding, the only reason I don't want them to call it off is Shen, I want to see her, just once, maybe talk to her, even.

One last time before… One _last _time? I never talked to her in my life!

I'm fat once more as I exit the alley right in front of the observer, who nearly has a stroke upon seeing me head straight for him.

A car honks in disapproval, but no one bumps me. Good for them. I give the observer a courteous nod and walk past, in between two greenhouses.

He hesitates a split second before following.

No I just need to wait for him to try something. You know, the more I think about it, the more this attachment to one of my victims' sibling makes sense. This man was obsessive, obsessed with his job, obsessed with the God-Emperor and obsessed with his little sister, this is what made him such a dedicated killer, this is what I took from him. What makes an efficient soldier is not training or upbringing, it's convictions, it's what they fight for.

A soldier that fights to survive won't be as effective as one who fights for his nation, and one who fights for a nation at large will not be as ferocious as the one who focus solely on a personal scale, fights for what he holds dear. I wanted the man's focus and dedication, my body took it, and everything that made it work right.

Now I fight for Shen, odd as it may seem, and my focus is a hundred times greater than it was when was just focusing on personal survival…

Thirty meters in, as we reach the darkest point of this alley, the observer draws his weapon with an audible click, five paces behind me. Smart; close enough not to miss, far enough to be out of arm's reach.

In theory.

A single jump and some airborne twisting gets me face to face and fist to throat with my prey. I squeeze, bones break and another mindless religious drone shaped into a living weapon joins the chorus inside me. This one, I keep somewhat isolated, taking in just enough to mimic his personality and take his place in the party.

"Eagle, what is your status? Is the target eliminated?" Speaks Robin in my ear, from the obelisk.

"Negative," I growl, "Eagle lost the target, repeat, zero target, resume search pattern."

From Eagle's perspective, I learn everything there is to know about the enemy forces, from where they all are to what they're wearing, it's so simple I feel like crying. I just switch back to myself and melt with the crowd two alleys further.

Now that I know everyone's face and whereabouts, this is a piece of cake. Literally… Well, not literally, that's just dumb, but it is as simple as walking up to them and, uh, eating them.

Not much to say about my newest passengers; cookie cutter religious drones with little defining features of their own. The guy in the obelisk starts having a nervous breakdown after I consume the twelfth Whisper. He's calling everyone, throwing a fit like a spoiled child denied its treat.

I melt into the last killer and it's just Shen, Robin and yours truly.

And another dozen sniper.

They don't see their pals anywhere and the target is gone, I get only a glance at the girl and an aged man entering a delivery truck as warning that the whole thing gets called off and everyone just vanishes into the night.

Shen's gone, but she'll be back… Somehow, thinking that makes me feel better, happy, for the first time in a long while.

Barely caught a glimpse of that girl's face and just thinking about her makes everything look brighter, how much more cliché can you get? Now, mind you I don't _think _I'm attracted to her, that would be just wrong, but it's not impossible Loran's obsession was more than mere brotherly love…


	11. Cap Troopers

Home sweet home, now what's new? The Tyranids have been eradicated, the Inquisitor just gave Baria its independence and I've been granted pardon for everything I did in the past month…

Heh, a man can dream, now for the real deal; We're getting pushed back on every fronts, two major cities are now under Tyranid control and refugees are hampering the supply lines in that area. I can't draft these folks, the boys out there are already busy getting killed and digging trenches to prevent the bugs from spreading further.

"Olenk." I call, the Major dropping everything to come see what I want. The Whispers gave me new insight on this thing, as did the Elysian drop troops' success. "We need elite units." She gives me a puzzled look, but her face remains frozen in grim determination.

"Do you have something to suggest, sir?" She knows we need better troops, but figures if there was a way we could train up a decent sized force to suit our purpose, we'd be doing it already.

Janus provides the answer; Jump packs.

Only that's just a tiny bit of the answer.

"The Adeptus Arbitres abandoned their fortress five days ago," I explain, pointing to the massive octagon on our now outdated map, "Send some troops there, have their armour and weaponry sent to the palace."

She nods, but I'm not done.

"Get me sixty of your best men, tell them to assemble in the ball room at two hundred hours, and tell the Sisters of Battle I need some jump packs. I think you can figure out the rest?"

Olenk nods and I'm back to throwing meat at the Tyranids in hope they'll get food poisoning.

Maybe I should feel bad about this, but what else can I do? Any of these people I send to their death might be family, friends, old acquaintances or even former girlfriends, but if I don't send a few to die, then it's likely they'll all buy the farm.

…Is that really why I'm doing all this? Or is it just what I want to believe?

Just look at all I've done this month; not once did I ever care about others nor feel bad about consuming their minds. I'm not a hero, I'm not trying to save this world…

The answer comes from that creature I consumed, supposed to be A Calibanite Lion, though I strongly doubt it really was. It felt no remorse killing its prey, no hatred for its competitors…

I do what I do for the same reason every living being on the planet does; to survive, to live another day. Right or wrong, good or evil, hero or villain, it's all just labels humans put on things they can't understand, to make them easier to accept.

People think there's a humane way to murder someone, an honourable way, but I have the minds of a dozen killers and they tell me that there is no good way to die. Murder, in all its forms, is a bloody and terrible thing; nation, religion, honour, these are just anesthetics people need to endure the reality of ending another life.

What does it matter if I kill someone by slicing him apart? Is it somehow kinder to behead them? In the end, they die, the emotions and fears they had beforehand are now irrelevant.

Natural selection; I'll fight with everything I've got, same as everyone and everything else on this planet, and we'll see what happens.

Olenk comes back just as I take my eyes off the desk, feeling as focused and relaxed as I did taking out the Whispers.

"Everyone, gather around." I call, waving my command staff closer. They hesitate to leave their posts, but I insist, "I have something to confess…"

Olenk shakes her head slowly, but I fix her with a glare. Enough playing around, we're losing this war and I can change that.

Twenty PDF and gangsters are now watching me with confused interest. "Some of you might be aware that I am far more competent than O'ran ever was…" There are a few questioning whispers and more snickers than I expected. It stops when I switch back to my own form and face. "That's because I'm not the Governor, not really…"

Some of the dumbest tools in the shed take a few steps back, but everyone with half a brain, such as Olenk, knew something was up. Polymorphine is the most accepted theory around, I don't contradict them, that's not my point.

"The Inquisitor must not be made aware, but I feel you people deserve the truth…" Sure enough, the feeling of being let on in a big secret dissipates some of the disapproving glares, "You people have this under control, I am now useless, I will thus give full operational command to Major Olenk and head out in the field with an elite assault squad."

Some people cheer at that, others nod in approval. Everyone now sees I'm not some imposter trying to get rich by abusing the planet's population. Whatever my angle is, I'm on their side and to people who just spent a couple of months watching their home being taken over by nightmarish abomination, it's all they can ask for.

Olenk steps forward, disapproval obvious in her eyes, "The men you requested are assembled in the courtyard, mister…"

I shouldn't smile, but this is hilarious. What does it matter what my original name is? I can be almost twenty people if I want, "My name is Jan."

But my name is Jan.

Sixty soldiers, covered in scars and most with biceps the size of their heads, look up when I repeat that sentence in the ball room.

The jump packs we burrowed from the Sister of Battle are simple; jump and they'll push you up a bit, jump harder and they'll push you further. The Arbitres left a handful of power armours in their fortress. I have the men put these on, then the jump packs.

The ball room is massive, but bland, decorations being taken out only for occasions. The ceiling is fifty meters up and the room itself is almost half a kilometer across.

These nobles party hard.

"Take the carapace armours apart," I tell the men once they're suited up, "weld the pieces to your armours."

They do as told without a sound. Olenk chose them wisely, these men are not the toughest nor the smartest, but they can follow orders.

Our armory is made up of shotguns, bolt pistols and grenade launchers, flame throwers and an assortment of handheld explosives we just can't give our frontline troops, lest they blow their whole sections up.

Everybody gets a flame thrower, a grenade launcher and a boltgun.

Now, this is just glorious; sixty muscular men in full power armour, with pieces of another suit of armor welded carelessly all over, massive jump packs over their shoulders, promethium tanks going from their shoulders to their wrists and grenade launchers hanging off his chest.

It looks like a bunch of armoured gorillas with high tech clubs…

"A'right you apes!" I roar once they're back in formation, fully kitted out and at attention, "I'm no Sergeant nor Lieutenant, but when you address me, I want _sir_ to be the first and last thing to come out of your mouths." I let it hang for a second. They're not smart, I gotta go easy, you know? "Do you get me?!"

And, of course, "Sir, we get you, sir!"

"Good!" I leap at a pillar, rooting myself in place with tendrils, and jump off again to hang monkey-styled off the ceiling. They never break formation. "Which one of you ape thinks he's got what it takes to bring me down? Close combat only, no rule!"

I get a volunteer, a kid from the district I grew up in. We grow them tough out there… Or used to, it's flooded now.

The boy's jump pack roars on the way up, straight for me, and I sidestep. The boy smashes into the ceiling and I catch him seconds before he hits the floor.

Two men make sure none of his gear is damaged an I return to the spot, demanding another volunteer.


End file.
